Unsheathing the Storm Sword
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: You chained me and kept me away from your battles, and I wonder what will be your reason when you release me.


**A/N:** Written for the

Digimon bingo, the non-flash version, #341 – Tactimon  
Diversity Writing Challenge, d16 – write using the personification device  
Becoming the Tamer King, Sheer Valley Task  
Digimon World Dawn/Dusk Remake Challenge, 2.1 - write a fic of exactly 1000 words and include a surprise for one of the characters

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 **Unsheathing the Storm Sword**

You wrapped me up in too many blankets and chained me up so I couldn't move or see or hear or feel. And you kept me in those cotton wool clouds and the only things I could say was that was quiet and cool.

It was cool because I didn't fight, because you never drew me to fight and if you ever drew me, it was with the sheath and the chains in tact and the heat of battle never reached inside to touch the chilling steel that made me up. And I wanted to fight and is that why you tied me u.p? So I couldn't jump into your hands when I smelt the copper wafting scent of first blood? Or even when I felt you tense in anticipation because I knew you well: I've been your sword since your awakening - your evolution - and when you were young and inexperienced and weak, you would depend on this autonomy of mine. You would depend on my long experience at the hands of other warriors to guide your hands and protect your chest and abdomen and all those fragile parts of your body - and you had your helmet to protect your mind.

But now I wonder if something snuck in anyway. Because you became unparalleled and no-one could match you - and wasn't that your wish? For you to be the greatest warrior that walked the Digital World until someone picked up your sword and your legacy many years after your death and surpassed you, as you surpass your predecessors. And I would impart the knowledge of those of old who'd wielded me and you as well - what new knowledge you would impart on me -

But instead, the knowledge you've given me is this cocoon in which I lay stiff and I wonder… What are you doing? Are you searching for strength without me there to guide you? Do you feel unworthy of wielding my blade and wish you find your might without me in your grip? Or do you fear and loathe me now that no-one else can challenge you? Have you grown bored at the top?

You are different then, if that is the case. For a wise warrior there is no top and for a wise sword, there is no top as well. And a warrior would understand how abhorrent it is to be bound like thus.

You betrayed me, Tactimon, and I cannot even tremble in anger and taste the mere mockery of battle in my soul.

But you will release me eventually, won't you? You will find an enemy you cannot fight, who will defeat you time and time again and you will cave and undo these chains and this scabbard and I will be free -

And if the one who opposes you has a warrior's heart, then I must say farewell - and good riddance. It's been far too long since I drowned in this gloom and I have had to long since stop screaming because you can't hear or don't hear but it's been far too long. I have waited drowning in soil or buried in rock but that's a different type of wait. It's a wait as I slip into hibernation but you still have your hand on my hilt and it is unfair. You use me but you allow me to gain none of the fruits. You fight with me but I cannot see participate in these fights at all except as a weak puppet without a mind. That is an insult. I do have my mind, and eons of knowledge I have not yet been able to impart on you and now I never will. Because I too have my pride and you chained me up and locked me away without even a word to me and I cannot easily forgive that.

If the moment in which you unchain me is the moment of your impending death, that hurt might be enough to stay my hand long enough. And then it would be too late. Your death would be your failure and my freedom but I would have this stain upon my blade when the next wielder grasped my hilt and pulled me out of the sand.

But what I feel is not hatred. Disappointment, like a father looks at his wayward son but not that I would skewer you upon my tip the moment you unwrapped me. It would depend on the circumstances under which you unwrap me. If they are quiet times and you wished to prove to me how strong you'd become, that you were worthy of me, then perhaps we will reach a new understanding before you find a warrior capable of matching you blade for blade.

But if you draw me for this battle and it is upon us before I can hear your plea, then I might hear their warrior soul instead.

And I would fight them at first, of course, to see where they stood but somewhere within the first fight after my release my steel might begin to burn with excitement and need and want and I might be swayed: by this strong warrior with strong ideals who can match me blade for blade and I would wonder if it's a weak master who has kept me chained for so long that has dulled me or if it is something more inherent inside you that has made you unworthy of my blade…

Or maybe it is inside me, this restlessness inside me and this pain at being betrayed that has made my foundations weak.

If you hadn't sealed me away, I would have saved you.

But you did and I no longer have unyielding loyalty for you. You hold my hilt but no longer my heart. It is free, searching for a new master and I will face every enemy you fight until we find one - a warrior will replace you and, without my help, you will never be able to face him down.


End file.
